Underneath it all
by LadyRavena
Summary: Set in Book 7, Potter and Snape have a short discussion. NOT SLASH, please R and R


Disclaimers: I don't own these people, places, things, or any other noun, verb or other things. This is to entertain our weird little minds, not to make any money.

Author's Note: Kerjen started me on these types of stories. The ending of this story is a common theme in monologues for Severus Snape. I'm sorry in advance if it is close to your story. Please email if that's the case.

**Underneath it all**

Hello?

Potter. Of course.

Professor. Are you badly injured?

No. I am always to be found lying in muddy ditches covered in blood.

Fine, then. I wanted to know whether you could move away from the dozen or so Dementors that are coming this way, _sir_. Because, frankly, I'm really not up to casting anything large at the moment.

Precious Potter is actually mortal?

Yes, or no? I can help--

Don't touch me, boy!

Fine. This way, sir. If we hurry we might be able to get to the castle before they do. It could get pretty hectic at the forest edge.

Potter, you've started to notice the world around you.

Let's just get back to the castle, so Madame Pomfrey can see to you. I hope that wasn't a souvenir from our side?

'Our side' only uses good curses, Potter. Defense magic, stunners.

A good Expelliarmus can break ribs just as well as many aggressive curses.

Mr. Longbottom's aim certainly serves that argument well.

And yours, sir.

Explain.

Well, you certainly put yourself into blasting Lockhart across the room at the Dueling club. You didn't even look inconvenienced.

Lockhart was an idiot, much like his predecessor.

Oh, Quirrell knew what his stuff. He just had a few ...moral issues.

He rented his skull out, you dwit.

I honestly thought that you were the one after the Stone that year, you know, and that Quirrell were the only obstacle.

A thought that amused me to no end at the time and proves to me what idiots the Gryffindors can be.

Yeah, well, we have the brains when it counts. Look at Professor Lupin. He knew the subject, with no one hanging out inside his head.

He merely howled at the moon once a month.

He knew the subject.

And I stand by what I said before, Potter. He was hardly overtaxing you.

Do you honestly believe you could have taught us any better? That you would have been the best out of 7 teachers so far?

I never seriously wanted the job, Potter.

You didn't want it? After all the rudeness, and veiled hints--

Oh, do use your brain once in a while, boy. If the Headmaster had given me the job I'd have been exposed as a spy and a traitor immediately. When I didn't start to teach you all how to kill, torture, maim, blackmail, mutilate...

I get the point. So the bitter Potions Master was better cover than a squeamish Defense teacher. Clever, I suppose.

Your approval means everything to me.

Tell me, sir, who will you belittle and torment when I have left?

There will always be first years and Hufflepuffs.

Students learn better if they aren't terrified that you'll poison them, you know.

You base this on your vast knowledge of teaching, I presume? If memory is correct, your only experience is in inciting rebellion against High Inquisitors.

Good practice for Voldemort, I say.

_Do not say --!_

We should keep going--

Do you know why I've been this way with you, Potter? Why I dog your steps and cut you off at every opportunity? Why yours is the first cauldron that I will belittle and fail? For there is a reason, Potter. Have you reasoned it out, or has Miss Granger not yet told you?

Beside the fact that you couldn't stand my father or Sirius or anything I do? There's more to it than that?

I am forever grateful you were not sorted into Slytherin, boy, for you cannot see intrigue even when it is stuck under you nose for 7 years. You needed an enemy, and I decided that was to be me.

What, Vold-, he wasn't enough?

He wasn't there to test you and train you to be able to defeat him. I was. You needed something real to fight against, not some shadow in the distant future. You needed someone to hate, boy, so when that battle comes, you won't fail miserably. You might even win it.

So everything has been to get me ready?

If you learned how to deal with your hatred, and I have no doubt in my mind that you do despise my existence, then you walk into that battle with a clear head and not be swayed by whatever the Dark Lord flings at you.

So you make my life miserable to ensure that I become a murderer of the vilest creature that lives?

If you must simplify it down that much, yes.

I'm glad that I asked the hat for Gryffindor, then. I'd never have kept up with the twisted little minds of the other Slytherins.

Thank you.


End file.
